


spill your emotions into my hands

by theweightofmywords



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up, Songwriter Harry, Songwriter Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 08:06:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17762966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweightofmywords/pseuds/theweightofmywords
Summary: Harry thinks about the words he’s splayed on pages, how all of the hurt in Louis’ eyes have been spelled out and set to music. How Louis trusted him with his heart, and all he did was cut it into words and hand it on a platter to a generic singer to sing to millions. Millions of people who would never know the way Louis once looked at him still knew the way Louis must have felt. Harry has somehow harnessed the pain and claimed it as his own, and that is probably the worst thing he has ever done.





	spill your emotions into my hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on Julia Michael’s song “Happy.” Title is from her song “Apple.” I wrote this in an hour, and it’s not beta-Ed at all. Living on the edge!
> 
> Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. I don’t think that the way I portrayed these people is how they are in real life. Please don’t share this with anyone involved.
> 
> I’m on tumblr at louisalbumnow, if you’d like to say hi.

“It’s been awhile,” Louis says, his arms crossed over his chest. Harry remembers when they would reach for him, the way his fingertips would trace their way down his spine. 

He shivers.

“Yeah, well… been busy,” Harry replies, shrugging as he wonders when he’s gotten so good at being so cavelier with such precious things. Louis moves his hands to his waist and narrows his eyes.

“Yeah? What big name are you collaborating with now? Anyone I know?” 

Louis’ lit a cigarette, the smoke pluming from his parted lips. He used to blow the smoke to the side, careful to avoid blowing it in Harry’s face. He knows he’s hurt, because Louis is many things but above all, he’s kind. He was so careful with Harry, even when things went to shit. Harry deserves the burning lungs and the smell of chemical ash in his hair. It should follow him everywhere.

“Can’t really say, yet.”

And Harry knows he sounds pretentious, like he’s trying to be provocative with the one person he never had to try with, but it’s the truth. The record label said to keep this latest project a secret. But there used to be a time when Louis had that privilege, when every secret was laid bare.

Louis snorts. Harry knows he recalls that secretless time. They were a unit, even if the industry was ripping them apart. Louis never really wanted to sell his work for money. He just wanted to make songs for good artists. The lyrics seemed to flow from him, the source of which Harry never could find within himself. Louis didn’t need real life pain to write about heartbreak. 

“I just imagine what it’d be like,” he had said one night after they had spent hours together crafting song after song. Harry shook his head in awe.

“I need it to be real to feel real,” Harry had said, staring at wear his pencil rested on the page. “Everything I write is autobiographical.”

“Some things,” Louis had murmured, “are better kept to yourself. Not everyone deserves them.”

Harry thinks about the words he’s splayed on pages, how all of the hurt in Louis’ eyes have been spelled out and set to music. How Louis trusted him with his heart, and all he did was cut it into words and hand it on a platter to a generic singer to sing to millions. Millions of people who would never know the way Louis once looked at him still knew the way Louis must have felt. Harry has somehow harnessed the pain and claimed it as his own, and that is probably the worst thing he has ever done.

Aside from break his heart. That definitely is the worst.

He’s written songs about that too.

“I’m sure it’ll make you plenty rich,” Louis says before taking a long drag from his cigarette. “You sure know how to write songs that pay the bills.”

Harry’s jaw ticks, and his anger flares because he knew that Louis was right. He has houses now with windows that keep the draft out, and he’s been invited to the Grammy’s because of number one hits he’s helped to write. He thinks about their flat, and the way Louis would wear his jumpers with the sleeves pulled over his hands. It was so cold, all the time, because their windows were old and drafty. They let in so much wind and sun, and-

Harry remembers the way the sun would hit Louis’ face in the mornings, when they’d huddle close beneath the blanket. 

It was cold, but it was so warm between them.

“Is it so wrong that I make money now, Louis?” Harry asks, looking at the man who holds his heart. He looks the same still, his eyelashes fanned across his cheekbones as he stares at the ground. 

“Fuck you if you think I’m bitter because of the money,” Louis says, the rage weakly concealed behind his trembling voice. “You like things with a shelf life because it gives you good fodder for your fucking art. That’s what pisses me off.”

Harry knows what he means, and he knows he’s right. Louis is always right about him, because he knows him better than anyone. 

Still, he groans, “What are you even on about?”

“You watched us fall apart, just so you could take my words and use them for your songs! You used me for your career, Harry, and I-“ Louis shouts, his eyes filling with tears. “I am worth more than that! I deserved more than that.”

Harry turns away. The sight of Louis crying brings everything to the surface- all his shame, his sadness, the empty house and the sterile studio. The 5000 miles between them, the guilt that makes him avoid mirrors and phone calls, the cold side of the bed that he can’t bring himself to sleep on, the words he really means but can’t bring himself to say. 

“I pay the price for it,” he mumbles. “I pay the price every day.”

Louis scoffs, his laugh bitter and sad. “Well, good for you.”

Harry hates this anger because he remembers when Louis was only soft edges and sweet tones. When his words were teasing but never mean, when his laughter was real. He deserves this, he knows. 

“Good luck on your top secret project,” Louis says. He stands and snubs his cigarette into the ashtray. As he slides the balcony door open, the sounds of the party inside fill his ears. He should be in there right now, talking to A-list record producers and musicians, but the thought of selling another piece of himself, another piece of his time with Louis, turns his stomach. He watches helplessly as Louis goes inside, sliding the door shut roughly behind him.

In the silence of the empty balcony, Harry lets himself cry. 

—

It’s a few months later when Harry finds himself on what he hopes is still Louis’ doorstep. When his latest song went to number one, and he felt nothing but sadness, he knew it was time to stop. He boarded a plane, and the entire flight over was spent trying to find the right words to say. 

He still has no words to express his regret, but he has decided that maybe he could try being honest.

Louis stands at the open door, his eyes tired and hair disheveled as it lays across his forehead. Harry wonders if he slept well, if he is eating enough. He thinks he is beautiful still.

It’s with this thought that he starts to cry.

Louis steps forward, his arms extended as if to hold him, even after everything. 

“Come in,” he offers instead, opening the door wider behind him.

Harry places his lone bag on the floor by the plethora of shoes. They sit at Louis’ kitchen table, two cups of haphazardly prepared tea between them. The tick of the clock has never sounded so loud.

“I… um… I’m sorry for just showing up like this,” Harry mumbles. 

“Why are you here?” Louis asks, his voice not kind but absent of that bitterness that it usually holds.

Harry thinks back to the way he had written down the words Louis had cried, the way he had embellished them and turned them into the breakout song of the year. He remembers Louis’ fury the first time he had heard it, the way his own pain had gone viral. He remembers the way he pushed the guilt down as he celebrated with his new friends, in his new clothes, before going home to his new flat. He remembers all the times he wished that Louis could be there with him for every moment, and he remembers all the times he did something to twist the knife in deeper. He doesn’t deserve Louis, but he wants him. He has everything he has ever wanted, and he still longs for him.

“I just want..” he stammers. He brushes his hair off his forehead in a nervous tic before rubbing at his eyes. He feels the tears come again, and he doesn’t even feel like it’s his place to cry. Every tear he’s brought on by himself.

Louis sighs, resting his head in his hand. Wearily, he sits up and stares at Harry again. 

“What do you want?”

“I just want to be fucking happy,” Harry answers. “I want to be happy. I want to be with you.”

Louis blinks before shutting his eyes. He looks away before standing to bring his cup to the sink. Harry stares at his back, the way his shoulders are hunched forward as he braces himself against the counter. His shoulders are shaking, and with a sinking feeling, Harry realizes that he is crying.

“I know I don’t deserve you. I’ve hurt you. You were fighting so hard for us to work, and I left. And then I used your words, I took them and I ruined them, and I-“

Harry gasps for breath as he makes his confession. 

“I’m sorry, Louis, I don’t know how to fix it but I know I want to. I need to. I need you.”

Louis turns around, uncaring now of the splotchy tears on his face. He sits down next to Harry, his hands hidden in the sleeves of his sweater. 

“What you just said would be a terrible song,” Louis intones. He lights a cigarette before opening a window. Angling his head, he blows the smoke out into the open air.

“I know,” Harry says weakly. 

“But at least it’s honest,” Louis adds. “At least it’s real.”

“Lou-“ Harry starts, standing to move closer. 

“Shut up, Harry,” Louis interrupts as he looks over at him. His eyes are tired but they still crinkle as he gives a small smile. “No talking for a little bit. I’m tired of words.”

Harry stands next to him, their arms touching as they look out of the large window. Louis rests his head against Harry’s shoulder, and he sighs. 

“Your new song,” Louis murmurs. “It’s good.”

And Harry knows it is. He wrote it as if he was in a different timeline, one where he never left, where he made better choices, where he was careful with the heart he held in his hands. He wrote it with his apology on the tip of his tongue, with his pride strewn on the floor. He wrote it for Louis, hoping it would somehow reach his ears.

He knows it’s good but it still feels like not enough. Words alone can’t undo all the hurt he caused. He isn’t sure what can, but he is willing to try.

“I meant it,” he replies. 

“The next song you write- will it be happier?”

Harry shrugs and turns to face Louis. 

“If it does,” he says as he stares at the way the sun makes Louis’ eyes look so blue, “I think I’d like to keep that to myself. Not everyone deserves to know what I hold in my heart.”

“Well if you want help writing happier love songs…” Louis says.

Harry smiles. Hesitantly, he takes hold of Louis’ hand, and when he realizes that Louis isn’t letting go, he lets out a wet laugh. 

He could write symphonies about this very moment. He could, but he won’t, because-

The way Louis glances over at him, his eyes red-rimmed but smiling, the way their voices are quiet as they sit on the couch and talk, how Louis’ hands grip his shirt as he tells him about his anger and then his sadness, how his face still lights up when they share lyrics with each other, how they still know their way around each others’ bodies, how Louis had every reason to keep him out but still lets him in-

How could he ever describe that in words?

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone’s curious, when I was writing, the song I imagined Harry writing based on Louis’ words is “Issues” by Julia Michaels (it would have been Louis saying the lyrics.) Then the song that he wrote from a different timeline is “Apple”... again, by Julia Michaels because girl knows how to write a good song.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
